


Wake Me From This Nightmare

by Sunglix



Category: IT, IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Eddie Lives, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Swearing, Young Love, more tags to come, stanley lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-12-28 05:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21131237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunglix/pseuds/Sunglix
Summary: “Hey, Rich…” The voice… was familiar to Richie, yet new at the same time. It brought back memories of his childhood. Bright days out in the sun. Riding bikes around the small town with his friends. Petty jokes and snickering remarks. Days spent buried deep within the local arcade, challenging anyone who so much as looked at him. A time when all Richie longed to do was curl up on a hammock with his friend, just once more. They way too crowded on the small fabric, yet neither cared. They felt safe, they felt completed. Yet, in turn it brought back a dark, eerie feeling. A feeling like Richie was hiding secrets while others spilled their guts. “It’s Mike, Mike Hanlon.”Richie coughed, choking out a small, “Mikey...?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is new and still in the works. I'll do my best to update as often as I can! I have quite a few ideas as to where the story can go, different routes, etc. However! I'm up for ideas/tips so leave them to your heart's content.
> 
> Comment / Kudos are welcomed and very appreciated. Thank you!

Bright eyes shine in the dark of the night. Richie murmurs a soft swear, hand reaching out to grab ahold of his childhood friend, crush, safe-place. His childhood in general. His everything. However, as Richie’s fingers extent, the eyes strayed further away. Further, further, until all Richie can see is a small twinkle. The catchlight soon after diminishing as well. Richie feels the panic swell inside himself, his heart hammering against his chest.

“Please,” Richie’s voice croaks out. It’s raw and strained as if he’d been crying for days already.

“Rich, come find me.” The voice is small, timid to break the silence. “I’m scared Rich.”

Before Richie can get himself up, unaware he had been laying down, he feels the ground rumble. His legs are that of a deer’s. They wobble and strain against the rest of his weight, but he must stand. He must. He needs to follow those eyes, he needs to save his world. Richie calls out a small plea, begging the boy to wait. As he finally gains the balance and strength needed to hold himself up, his world shakes more. The eyes are gone, hidden within the darkness. 

“Please, please stay. I need you… I need you to stay.” The panic rises more, Richie searches within the darkness, clinging onto the hope for any sign. “One more time… Call once more.”

“Ri— “ 

“...ch! Come…up!” The voice is new, different from anything else. Richie jolts awake with a soft gasp. His shirt clings to his chest, drenched in a layer of sweat. 

“I’m up,” Richie huffs. He reaches for his side table, needing his glasses to see the person who saved him from his nightmare. 

“God Rich, you don’t look too good.” At that, Richie wants to offer a snide remark. How good would anyone look after witnessing the loss of their first love? A love he’d forgotten he ever had. “Get up, you have a show today.” 

With a small groan, Richie frees himself from his fortress of covers. He readies himself for a struggle to stand, expecting his weight to topple him over as it had in his sleep. However, as Richie plants his feet down and goes to stand the only thing unsettling his body is his shirt. God, Richie moans internally, pinching a piece of his shirt to pry it off his body. What the hell happened last night? Of course, he remembered the dream. Remembered the terror and pain, the loss of his love. Yet, who? Who had Richie lost that ripped his heart out too? The eyes remained engraved, big, doe eyes. No color, no true shape in the darkness. The eyes were just there, big and pleading. The voice… There had been a voice, but Richie couldn’t recall who it belonged to. Was it someone he knew? Of course, it had to be. There was no doubt it was someone Richie knew, there was no other way he would be so torn over them leaving. But, who?

Richie made his way to his en-suite, groaning as he flicked the light switch. Despite waking up late in the afternoon, his hotel room remained remotely dark due to his drawn curtains. The change from dull colors, to soft yet bright ones causing him to strain his sight just to see. Without much thought, as if in a routine, Richie moved about the bathroom. He began with washing his face, holding his hands up to soak in the warm water. My dream… Richie’s mind wandered. He couldn’t shake the feelings even still.

“Trash Mouth,” Richie turned at his stage name, glaring at his agent. “You’ve got a call. Take a message or can you handle it?” 

Richie was quick with his remark this time, stalking over and snatching the phone from his manager’s hand. A small mutter along the lines of, “Yeah, I can handle it. Just like I handled your mom last weekend.” Which, in return rewarded him with a smack to the back of his head and a glare from his agent. Trust Richie to keep his seventh-grade humor, a real comedian. 

With a quick sigh, Richie spoke, “Tozier.” 

“Hey, Rich…” The voice… was familiar to Richie, yet new at the same time. It brought back memories of his childhood. Bright days out in the sun. Riding bikes around the small town with his friends. Petty jokes and snickering remarks. Days spent buried deep within the local arcade, challenging anyone who so much as looked at him. A time when all Richie longed to do was curl up on a hammock with his friend, just once more. They way too crowded on the small fabric, yet neither cared. They felt safe, they felt complete. Yet, in turn, it brought back a dark, eerie feeling. A feeling like Richie was hiding secrets while others spilled their guts. “It’s Mike, Mike Hanlon.”   
Richie coughed, choking out a small, “Mikey...?” 

“Yeah,” The voice seemed to scoff in disbelief. Silence fitting into the conversation before the voice spoke up again. It was soft, pleading almost. The tone sent Richie back to his dream, the same way he’d sounded, the same way the voice then had too. Was Mike who he dreamed of? No, his voice was deeper, brash. “You’re the first to remember so soon. Listen… It’s started again. You need to come back, come home to Derry.” 

Richie ended the call quickly after, feeling the bile rise in his throat. He dismissed quickly, agreeing to come back. Come back? Richie hadn’t even been aware he lived in Derry, to begin with. His childhood was a blur, no recollection of where it had taken place. Memories began to fade into view, scenes and feelings he’d buried deep down within himself. With a quick shake of his head, Richie busied himself with getting ready. He needed to do his show first, then he’d panic about heading home. As he finished getting ready, a memory-filled his thoughts. 

“It’s summer,” Richie emitted a loud huff. His cheek was throbbing, after a strong punch from a boy before him. Richie couldn’t place his name, couldn’t place the name of any of the others surround him. However, he could place the hatred and jealousy fuming within himself. He shook the two boys pulling him back off, shoving the boy before him one more time. “I don’t want to risk my life anymore, for some sick fucking clown to kill me. I’m done!” Richie’s eyes dart to the smallest in the group, their eyes meeting instantly. A small agreement passes between the two and Richie buries the hatred building even more as the smaller one clings to their friend. Richie wants to call out, pry for the boy to follow him yet he can’t. It would be too obvious, and the boy could deny and hang around with the others even more. Richie storms off, throwing a string of curses behind him as he goes. “Fuck you, enjoy getting ripped apart asshole.” As Richie flees, he can see the group dismembering. The small boy leaves after another, with a small shake of his head and Richie feels triumphant. 

A deeper, more sinister memory comes after. The group is stuck down in a dark well, being chased and terrorized. The memory fades as it comes. Little can be remembered. What was so horrid down there? The smell, the darkness? Richie couldn’t hold back at that. He rushes over to the toilet, throwing up what little he had left from the night before. With a groan Richie stands, wiping his mouth. He shuffles back to the sink, washing his face once again and finishing with a quick brushing. 

“I’m ready,” Richie calls to his manager. “Let’s get this shit-show on the road.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cancel my gigs the rest of the week,” Richie called to his manager. “I’m taking a trip back home.”   
“Cancel—What Richie? Back home?” His manager gave him a stern look, mixed with anger and confusion. 
> 
> “Yeah, I’m going home. I’ll be there for a week maybe.”
> 
> “Richie,” With a sigh, his manager grabbed ahold of him. “You can’t just cancel shows at your pleasure. Those are promises, booked and set. Plus, you always said you didn’t remember much of your childhood, home included.” 
> 
> Richie responded with a curt laugh, “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So I wanted to state, I will roughly be updating chapters every week. I have college to focus on and life, as people do you know. However, if I don't set a date I'm afraid I'll lack the motivation to work on this, so weekly updates are the plan for now. I might update a little earlier but never later. 
> 
> I also wanted to say, I'm (kind of obviously) changing parts of the story. I wanted to originally mix the book, mini-series, and new adaptation but then I kind of mixed my own viewing on it too. Richie (in my writing) seems to be more "softer," but that's mainly due to just how I write. I'll do my best to evolve it and keep his witty and more bombarding personality. 
> 
> Comments and kudos welcomed!  
Thanks much!

The crowd erupted in a cry of laughter. It was bubbly and sweet, Richie’s cheeks begin to flush a bright red. He felt triumphant, accomplished. It was always a euphoric feeling to Richie when he got a reaction from the crowd. Small chuckles, bright smiles, any kind of positive reaction filled Richie with a sense of self-pride. As any comedian would, of course. However, times, when Richie drew a burst of proper laughter from the crowd, were the times Richie felt as if he’d floated up to cloud-nine. It was the times when he felt as if he could turn to his family and cheer, “Look! I made it, I really made it.” Times when his mother, faded in vison but still with him, would place her hand on his shoulder. She’d give him a tight squeeze and murmur, “You really did.” He was a known comedian, adored by many. Playful yet respectful, Richie refrained from stepping on toes and blatantly using jokes to bully others. He had his moments, of course. Witty remarks, snarky comments, they all escaped at times. Yet Richie also kept a more childish manner to his jokes. Almost any age found something to laugh about from Richie’s shows, that is if parents could look past the swearing to allow their kids to listen. 

“Thank you,” Richie hummed into the mic before him. He was still riding the cloud-nine extasy. “I’m Richie ‘Trash-Mouth’ Tozier, thank you guys for coming.” 

With a curt bow, Richie excused himself from the show. It always ended in the same sense, he thanked fans. Welcomed the back or to chat about him as they carried on the rest of their night. In truth, Richie was humbled by his success, he refrained from becoming a proper ass. He was joyful and proud of the success he built up, yet always managed to remain more grateful for the fans and company he’d collected on his journey. Settled deep within the memories Richie forgot often, there was an underlying tone there. Richie was more snarky, witty, chatty. Where did that Richie go? He was still there, of course, but he’d changed as well. Richie, the Richie he was now, was more mature, sophisticated. Compared to others that might be a false statement, however, compared to past Richie he was an angel. Who was past Richie though? 

There’s an injured boy before Richie. His stomach is slashed, oozing a thick liquid. Richie can register the liquid like blood, yet he refuses. His hand smacks into a smaller boy, who turns and snaps at Richie. If someone were to look at the conversation as an outsider, it would look like a quarrel. Richie knows though, there’s a fondness in the boy’s eyes. They’re the same eyes Richie saw in his dream, he knows yet the face is still a blur. In the daylight, whilst the group cowers in a grungy alleyway, all the faces blur together. A boy just about Richie’s height saunters up, cutting the argument short. “Listen, I know what I’m doing, and I don’t need you doing the British guy on me.” Richie offers a poor British accent, earning another smack from the smaller boy before he kneels to help the injured one. 

A soft feeling washes over Richie. As much as he may, pinning the feeling with one word is near impossible. It’s a mix, a bundle. Richie can feel the warmth spreading to his cheeks, flushing a soft tint. How did faded and chopped memories fill Richie with so much? There was love, pride, compassion, care. Fear settled in the more the memories played out. Richie could feel his need to run, his need to live kick in. He wanted to hide at times, wanted to grab the small boy he kept picturing and take him away. 

“Cancel my gigs the rest of the week,” Richie called to his manager. “I’m taking a trip back home.”   
“Cancel—What Richie? Back home?” His manager gave him a stern look, mixed with anger and confusion. 

“Yeah, I’m going home. I’ll be there for a week maybe.”

“Richie,” With a sigh, his manager grabbed ahold of him. “You can’t just cancel shows at your pleasure. Those are promises, booked and set. Plus, you always said you didn’t remember much of your childhood, home included.” 

Richie responded with a curt laugh, “Yeah.” He shrugged the hand off himself, giving his manager a similar look in return. “I’m aware, but I need to go home. This is a different promise.” We made a promise Richie, Mike’s voice filled Richie’s mind. It was a promise, one he couldn’t break no matter how much his brain said he should.

“Okay, I’ll say it’s a family emergency.” 

Richie thanked his manager, turning on his heels and heading back home. His real home, the place he’d made into a home. A, despite being a rising comedian, run-down and small apartment. Richie originally planned to make it big, live big. However, when the time came Richie felt the small apartment was safe. He was used to the walls, enjoyed working on his handy-skills as he fixed up the apartment. It was fixer-upper for sure. Stained carpets and windows, broken cabinets, plumbing often needed maintenance called to get it fixed. It was home and despite others being scared to show it off, Richie adored the small place. 

As Richie climbed into the backseat of a cab, he worked on scheduling his next flight to Maine. His heart hammered in his chest, clothes feeling too tight as he booked his seat. Richie could feel another round of bile building up, waiting for him to lower his guard before vomiting his non-existent lunch. Richie often skipped on meals during show days, skipped meals in general. He was quite petite in weight, yet tall. It gave him a more gooney look. Slim and lanky, Richie used it for show material yet always got lectured at by his manager. He should eat, Richie knew, but something always settled in just as he felt hungry. A need to work and improve himself, work on his comedy. Perhaps, it was more of a need to distract his brain, busy himself with something more than thoughts of food. 

Before realizing it, Richie was being called for, coming from his deep thoughts. Richie thanked his driver, tipping the man before exiting the cab. He wanted to be home again, feeling safe in his small apartment. As he approached, a horror settled in, the quicker he entered and went to bed, the quicker tomorrow came. His flight would pass before he realized, and he would be home. Back home where he forgot. He knew nothing of where he was going, just that there was a promise. He needed to go home, but why? Eager and scared, Richie decided to spend his last night before his trip at a bar. With his mind set, Richie sauntered his way down the street, making note to drink extra tonight. Drown his mixed emotions in a shot or two.


End file.
